Out of this World
by Hermy Puckle
Summary: I can't believe it. Here, I, Hermione Granger, am, writing a bloody love story. And to make matters worse, my love story. That's right. I am penning my very own sappy romance, like some lovesick fool.
1. An Introduction of Sorts

**Disclaimer: JKR owns it all, not me. JKR literary genius ME Not so much

* * *

**

Wow.

I can't believe it. Here, I, Hermione Granger, am, writing a bloody love story. And to make matters worse, _my_ love story. That's right. I am penning my very own sappy romance, like some love-sick fool.

But I feel I must. Like, I owe it to the world to write it down. Because it truly is like none other. And believe you me; I _tried_ to find other stories similar to mine. Sure, some aspects are painfully cliché, but boy, the rest!

As I was saying before I digressed, something you, the reader, will learn I have a habit of doing, I feel the moral obligation to write this all down, almost to prove to _myself_ that it's real. I do know that you will be sitting there, holding this book in your hands, and shaking your head in disbelief. I don't blame you; I would be doing the same. In fact, I still _don't believe_ this. And I _experienced_ it myself! I suppose, psychologically, I could chalk my feelings of disbelief up to the simple fact that it defies logic. But then again, so does magic and _that's_ real.

The odd thing though is that I _want_ to write about it. I don't know why either since I am really not liking these emotions. Plus, as a child on up, I was always given journals. 'That Hermione wants to be an author and all authors must keep journals. It helps,' people thought. But I was, and still to this day _am_, incapable of keeping a journal. I just bore myself! Even when Harry, Ron, and I watched the most evil wizard of our age fall, when we _caused_ it, I still didn't feel like talking about it. Like, I experienced it already, why do it again?

But this time's different! First of all, there's the bit of me that doesn't even believe it happened, so it's almost as though I am writing fiction. Also, when I write, I tend to be able to figure things out easier. How, you ask, can I do that if I don't write about myself usually? Well, let me reiterate; the problems I figure out are ones that really have nothing to do with my personal life. For example, when I found out about Lupin being a werewolf. It really didn't hit me, even though I'd read the text many times before Snape gave us the assignment, until as I was writing the essay. I don't know. I guess you can akin it to a Pensieve. I mean, people sometimes go back and look at their memories to clear any confusion up. Just looking at it from that different perspective helps.

See? Even there, I couldn't figure out why I was doing it before but then I write it down and the ideas flow through me.

Well, that introduction done, here goes my story.

Wait, it needs a title. Hm… I need something _not_ lame.

_A Love Story_

Simple, yet forgettable. No, how about something slightly comedic.

_For the Love of Hermione!_

No, it sounds like a Harlequin Romance. And it also sounds like there's someone fawning over _me_. Which really isn't what is happening. _And_ it's not even funny. Something that alludes to the contents?

_A Separate Time_

Oh, _Merlin_ no! I would never pick up a book with that title and I don't expect others to. I still like the comedic part. Hm…

_Manipulative Bastard_

Ok no. That sounds mean. Though true. But the title in itself is digressing.

_From the Files of a…_

No.

_A Different Sort of Cheese_

What?! No—

I got it!

It's perfect!

_Out of this World_

_By Hermione Granger_

Love it.

Now that the introduction is over, I shall move on to my actual story. Now to find a way to start that without saying, 'it all began…' or something as horrible as that.

* * *

**A/N: Ok, First of all, I _know_ I am supposed to be finishing up my other stories but I got attacked my another hoard of plot bunnies and couldn't help myself. Well, actually, this PB has been playing around for months. And since I haven't tossed it out, I know it's good. And I hope you will too. **

**See, in fanfic, there is hardly any real emotion or believable love. I am not saying that there aren't any in _any_ fanfics. Because I have read a few that are like whoa, real emotion. And there are a lot of actual books, published books, that don't inspire tears or anything within me. So, here is where I try to do that. To inject emotion, _feeling_ into the story. I make no promises, but I'm going to try to make you feel what Hermione's feeling. **

**Of course, as in my habit, there will be some plot twists and yes, some of my whacked out humour. **

**Naturally. **

**Well, do enjoy and remember to review. **

**Oh, and since likes to break down a lot, if you ever want to contact me, just email me at Make sure you put in the subject line so I know. **


	2. Like a Fly Blasted With Insecticide

Disclaimer: I'm Hermy Puckle. Not JKR.

* * *

C H A P T E R O N E

I should start you a bit before where it all began. Though I figure now, that it really began when I first started working at Hogwarts, a year prior. But that year is full of verbose events. Unneeded. Just know that I started working at Hogwarts.

Got it? Moving on.

The day I'm starting with is the day just before the students left for Winter Holiday. There was that familiar buzzing around me. The buzzing of impatience, young minds clearly projecting the yearning for the next day.

And I sat at the head table, sandwiched between Hagrid and Dumbledore.

Ok step back. I know he's supposed to be dead. He is. He's a ghost. I know, how odd is that? TWO ghosts on staff. Well, Dumbledore didn't just wake up dead like Professor Binns. No, he stayed a ghost to aid Harry. And make sure we all knew Snape was forced.

But anyway, I was talking to Hagrid, or rather, he was perorating about introducing his fifth-year class to baby gorgons (which doesn't have a recipe for disaster, oh _nooo_) while the rest of the building was planning their vacation.

Then Snape walked in.

Ok, Snape no longer works at Hogwarts for two reasons.

Parents don't want their kids taught by an ex-con and

Snape hates teaching.

He now owns a shop, selling potions he's made up and ones on which he's perfected. Does pretty well, from what I hear. I've gone in a few times. Snape's rude and callous and looks down his overlarge nose at each customer.

Shock, I know.

So when Snape walked in, I guess I was a bit annoyed. I mean, I guess I really don't have anything against him; he just irritates me. I mean, all throughout my career as a student, he was condescending and rude and full of himself. That hasn't changed. So he comes in and gives me the 'oh, what is an unworthy speck of dirt like you doing here?' look before completely ignoring me. Even when I tried to make polite conversation, or even ask him to pass the salt.

And who really wants that?

I knew, seeing Snape take a seat next to Dumbledore, that I should just keep to myself and enjoy any socializing. It wouldn't be too difficult. I'm no hermit but I fare well on my own.

It's just a crack in my cauldron that I have to avoid certain places to which I have a right because of some visitor.

That entire day, I managed to do so. Avoid him, that is. Until the Grand End-of-Term Feast, that is. Where, ironically, I was seated next to him.

If I were the type, I'd start to whine and complain that the fates had it in for me.

I'm not the type though and never was.

So I sat quietly, not daring to open my mouth lest everything I said be scruntinised and criticized, and only spoke when spoken to.

Unfortunately, Minerva was feeling alarmingly chatty.

Fortunately, it was mostly Snape to whom she felt like speaking. So I was free to speak to the likes of Hagrid and Ginny while he was distracted.

Yay.

That night, I rode the train home, happy to have a bit of holiday. I don't recall if I slept on the way there, for all I remember is getting on the train and next thing I know, I'm walking into my apartment, taking a shower, and then finally, falling into bed.

And that's where the normalcy in my life just died.

Like a fly blasted with insecticide.

Dead.

I woke up to a persistent knocking on my door. I threw off the covers and trudged into my sitting room, loathing whoever it was on the other side of that wood. It could have been Charlotte Morrigan, the writer of a favourite series of mine, and I still hated them. For waking me up at the gods-awful time of . . . 8 AM.

Oh.

I decided to calm myself from my homicidal state and take a deep breath before opening the door.

In . . . out . . .

Better.

I turned the knob and as soon as I did, I wished I hadn't.

There, in my doorway, was Snape.

Smiling.

'I hope you slept well,' he told me and just slid in around me.

Rude!

I closing my door slowly and turned and followed him. He straightened out a photo of my parents and me from a trip to Ireland a few years back, before turning to me.

He frowned. 'You look like hell.'

Oh, thanks.

Not really wanting to deal with this, I asked, 'what are you doing here?'

He smiled again. 'Well, I've hardly seen you over this last week, with both of us being busy and I missed you.'

**Missed me?**

Oh, I KNEW this was a trap. I mean, he must have wanted something. Why else would he have 'missed' me?

But I didn't know to what he was up so I simply tried to play along. 'I just saw you yesterday.'

Snape's eyes narrowed in confusion. 'No, you didn't. You've been worked to the bone for a month, trying to end the year. I haven't seen you since last Monday. Hermione . . . are you feeling ok?'

'Hermione?'

Suddenly, he looked generally frightened, as though he feared he'd made a huge_ faux pas_. 'That _is_ your name . . . isn't it?'

DAMN that man's sarcasm was really subtle. I could have taken that for seriousness had I not known him.

Slightly miffed, I didn't bother to hide it in my answer. 'I know it's my name. I'm just . . . you never called me that before.'

Still looking scared, he asked, 'what did I call you?'

He looked serious! I swear! The man, all six-five of him, looked totally confused.

'Are you feeling ok?' I asked. 'You're looking a bit peaky.'

Reluctantly, he said, 'I suppose I should go. Wouldn't want to get you sick.' And then he stepped forward.

And brought his face toward me . . .

And kissed my cheek.

Ok, you might have been expecting a snog or something but that's because you are too melodramatic. The reason I make such a large deal with this is because . . . well, think! When's the last time some bloke who thought you an insect cheek-snogged you? Wouldn't you be a bit surprised if he did?

There you go.

I ogled at him, trying to figure out his motives. But he walked out as though his previous action were the most normal thing. He walked out and said, 'I'll floo you later.'

And that was that.

I would have gladly sat down hard on my couch and tried to wrap my mind around the events that had unfolded, and likely give myself a stroke, if it weren't for emerald flames shooting out of my fireplace.

I jumped. Was he flooing me already?

It turned out to be Dumbledore's head, instead of Snape's. He smiled at me.

'Hope I didn't startle you, Hermione. If you have the time, could I have a word with you? In my office?' Without a response, he disappeared, flames and all.

I quickly dressed and set myself in the fireplace.

Maybe _he_ knew what was going on.

* * *

A/N: I have not died! No fear, I am still alive and apparently, my writer's block has finally left!

Yayyyyy!

I've been working on this story at work. I don't know what or when I'm going to update next but let me just appologise for the delay and the short chappie.

Thanks to all my readers! Don't worry! None of my stories have been abandoned.

Next Chappie: Physics: HP Style

I love reviews and answer as many as I can!


	3. Decisions and Hypothetical Situations

Disclaimer: I hate these things. Really I do. JKR made Snape up. Not me.

**EDIT!!!!!! INSTEAD OF THIS ALL STARTING AT THE END OF TERM, IT'S THE BEGINNING OF CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY**

* * *

  
C H A P T E R / T W O

You know, when I flooed to Dumbledore, I was still in a state of shock, even disbelief. It COULD have been a dream, my mind reasoned, a delusional dream brought on by sleep deprivation.

_Right and so was the final battle_.

I was still sort of talking to myself when I arrived. I didn't even realise I'd reached my destination until I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up and found myself staring down a red and white stocking, hung on the mantle. I ducked under it and stepped out.

Dumbledore's office is just how it's always been. There are odds and ends cluttering every available surface with portraits of past headmasters, the founders, and various professors lining the walls. Fawkes, decked in vibrant scarlet with flecks of gold tingeing his feathers, hoots softly as he sleeps with his head tucked under his wing.

Dumbledore himself is the only thing that's changed, and that being that you can now see through him.

He smiled at the sight of me and motioned for me to have a seat across from him. 'How did you rest your first night off?' he inquired.

Rest? Oh, I did sleep. 'Fine,' I replied, the universally neutral answer. I sat in the wing-back chair quietly, my mind still whirling from the morning's events.

_Focus, Hermione, focus!_

There was a slight pause until Dumbledore cleared his throat again. 'I called you here today to ask a favour. See, I wish to open a club of sorts, one I think you'll take an interest in. Many students are like how you were when you went here, they enjoy studying outside the classroom to further their education in independent research, even developing upon, and perfecting, existing charms, potions, and whatnot. I thought it would be a smashing idea to create a group around this idea. You'd be the supervisour, so they have some guidance and aren't entirely on their own, and the club would meet whenever you see fit. What do you think?'

During this entire speech, I heard what he was saying, but I could barely listen. Maybe Snape wasn't Snape after all. Maybe it's one of the twins! I'd thought they'd toned down a bit and grown up but they've still been children at heart. How would they get a bit of Snape's hair to Polyjuice themselves into him? Unless they've developed a more efficient way to change into a person temporarily. I think they've actually been working on it. But why choose Snape? And ME for that matter?

'Hermione?' came Dumbledore's concerned voice. Apparently, he'd been waiting for a response.

But if it were the twins, they wouldn't have taken it that far. I knew them. Eventually they wouldn't have been able to contain their mirth. So it couldn't be then. What if it was Snape but he was under someone's Imperious?

I hadn't seen enough of Snape though to notice any differences in his mannerisms. But Dumbledore has, since Snape's been visiting him a lot recently. Almost two, three times a week.

So, I said, 'Albus . . . I've noticed Snape acting . . . a bit odd lately.' That's a light way to put it. I could also say that fire is a bit warm.

Two bushy silver eyebrows went up. 'Oh?'

I nodded. How to put this without sounding either paranoid or nutters . . . 'He was here, at Hogwarts yesterday, right?'

'Yes,' replied the old wizard. 'I do believe I saw him.'

'Well, this morning he showed up at my house and . . . brought me food . . . and kissed my cheek.' When I finished up, I felt suddenly out of breath, as though I'd just completed the 100-metre dash. I gasped for air and leaned back, trying to elongate my lungs to ease the airflow (yes, I actually do think of these things as I do them).

I don't know how I expected Dumbledore to react. I mean, I thought there'd be some lowering of the brow, a bit of confusion. But there was nothing. He stared at me blankly, as though trying to figure out the purpose for my unbosoming.

Then, realising I wanted his input, he said, uncertainly, 'Well. I may not know of his . . . nuances or . . . _habits_ in that area so you'll have to elaborate.'

What?

Ok, he was old and dead. He'd seen what happens after you die (but refuses to tell me on account of 'morals'. Bugger) and came back to the land of the living. So it's slightly, _slightly_ forgivable that he might not have understood me. So, I expanded.

'Headmaster!' I shouted (a little). 'He _kissed_ me. Well, my cheek. But still! He did it all casual as though it were normal!!!'

Slowly, clearly taking a stab in the dark, Dumbledore asked, 'He's never done it before?'

What on earth does he think Snape and I _do_? Go around snogging each other's cheeks? Has he, all this time, thought I smooch everyone I know? Is he _mad_? 'No! Of _course_ not!' I exclaim, answering his question. 'And I don't . . . I can't figure out _why_ he did it!'

'I don't see the problem.' He shrugged.

**Don't see the problem?**

Ok, so now I was a little hysterical. I'd been woken up _far_ too early to be kissed by my former teacher and to have my boss, who's known both of us long enough, sit there and think this is all wonted. I couldn't figure it out and I _hated_ not being able to figure something out. Usually, I add a bit of logic and _POOF_ all was clear. But this—this _had_ no logic.

I did the classic and cliché thing and opened my mouth, trying to say what, I don't know, but it was as though my gears just jammed up and I stopped thinking, breathing, and speaking.

The Elderly Mad went on. 'Does his kissing your cheek make you uncomfortable?'

_Does it?_

What do you m—of COURSE it does! It makes me uncomfortable because I don't . . . I can't figure out his motives and now DUMBLEDORE IS ACTING LIKE A LOON!

I'm not normally a violent person, all right? But right then, I really wanted to jugulate something; squeeze the life out of something. I had all this pressure that was rapidly building.

Dumbledore suddenly leaned forward. 'Listen, I don't mean to sound inconsiderate, Hermione, but wouldn't Mrs. Potter be more suited for this sort of thing?'

Huh?

My voice made an encore appearance. 'W-what are you talking about? Why would she . . . She doesn't know Snape as well as you do.'

'That's true.' He nodded in affirmation. 'But I'm afraid that the intricacies of relationships aren't my forte. I think she would be better for this thing.'

Ok, let's pause here. I really should have realised that something was up with how Dumbledore has been putting this. I mean, it should have hit me, what was up. Ok, maybe I wouldn't have gotten . . . I'm getting ahead of myself. What I mean is, even at this moment, I wasn't getting what Dumbledore was talking about. Soon I did. Ohh, _too _soon.

'However, since you came to me, I'll do my best to help.' Dumbledore poured me a cup of tea and handed it to me. I took it on autopilot and took a sip. It scalded my tongue but _that_ helped wake me up.

As if the rest of all this wasn't doing it effectively.

'I would only suggest that if what Severus did made you uncomfortable, you should talk to him. Tell him. I mean, couples go through these sorts of things all the time. One person will like something that the other doesn't. People work around it. You could probably come up with a happy compromise.' Then he smiled, clearly pleased and surprised by his response. As though saying, _that was some good advice. I should send that to Hallmark_.

Hold on. You saw that too, didn't you? That word. **Couples**. Yeah. He referred to Snape and me as a couple. Now, even someone as thick as me realised not all was copasetic in Reality. My mind zeroed in and highlighted that word, sending out a red-alert.

**Alert! Alert! Ears have detected an alien reference! Mouth. Fly in to investigate. Memory, get ready to take notes. I have a feeling this one'll be a doozy!**

I just wanted to be sure. 'What do you mean, "Couples go through this thing all the time"?'

Patient as though I were the particularly slow child in class, he explained, 'We're both adults here. I mean, maybe the man likes to be kissed on the—'

'I _know_ what you meant by _that!_ I mean, what do couples have to do with Snape and I?'

And then his mouth formed a perfect 'O', realising something. He looked at me in that clinical way psychiatrists have, when they realise they've found the Freudian reason for something you've said or done. 'I see. You still aren't comfortable being out in the open.' He lowered his voice to keep the portraits from hearing. 'Hermione, Severus and you told everyone a month ago. I know you are still uncomfortable having others know, risking judgment, but you've got to accept it. Your friends are happy for you. They might not like your choice of a boyfriend but they know he makes you happy and that's all that matters to them. I've also done my part to get them to apperceive that Severus is a good man in general, let alone for _you_.'

Yeah. There. That's where you might be confused. Or, like me, you might be going through

**Cliché #2: Thinking you are dreaming**

And

**Cliché #3: Laughing hysterically.**

That's what I did, causing Dumbledore to look alarmed, because clearly, I'd gone insane.

The jury's still out on that one.

That's when my mind snapped to. _Hermione! Be reasonable! No one dreams so cognitively! Dreams are scattered and confusing. This is going as one straight plot, with all the characters acting as they should! You aren't building a dam with Prince Charles so you aren't dreaming! STOP LAUGHING!_

It takes a firm talking-to from one's mind to get one to straighten up. The laughter died on my throat when I realised that Dumbledore was serious and I was completely awake (just for good measure, I went through

**Cliché #4: Pinching one to make sure one is awake**

Just to be sure.)

Now, I won't bore you with the details but after some lobbying back-and-forth, Dumbledore stood up and walked over to his bookshelf, not saying a word.

He sat back down, now carrying a book roughly the size of his desk. Looking worried, he thumbed through the pages, finally landing on one containing nothing but tight, messy scrawling.

'Oh dear. It was _true_!'

Now, if you thought you were confused before, get ready, because your mind is going to look like it took a trip or two through the blender when you're done with this chapter, and more so, this book.

I'll give you a moment to brace yourself.

Ready?

Ok.

So Dumbledore studied the text a bit longer before looking up. The way he looked at me, even to this day, having lived through it all (I'm still surprised at that and you will be too), I still remember the expression on his face being that of complete fascination mixed with admiration.

I will pause here again and explain that I? Yeah, I don't like being looked at. This will come into play a lot later on but I just want you to know, that I don't like people's focus being on me. I know, I raise my hand in class or whatnot but that's because the compulsion to share knowledge that fascinated me with others overrides my fear of being under someone's scrutiny.

Got that? Good. Ok on with the story.

So, shifting under the weight of his gaze, I finally demanded, 'what? Would you mind explaining what's going on?'

He smiled, then masked it with Ultra-Serious Professor. 'You, my dear, have traveled across dimensions.'

Ok, you can laugh. I can see you sitting there, reading this, going, 'that's impossible' and just thisfar from throwing the book down and rendering it too improbable to be enjoyable. You want to be able to connect with the story, right? You can't do that when the characters are too perfect (and clearly, this story doesn't have that problem) or if the circumstances are impossible. Also, Dumbledore's delivery. I mean, look how he just slapped that one on! Just, 'oh, clearly all your problems can be summed up by inter-dimensional travel'. It sounds like a shitty episode of Dr Who.

I know. I'm right there with you. Had this never happened to me and I had been reading this story, I'd throw the book down myself.

However, I must beg you not to! For I swear, on my very own grave, that this happened.

I suppose now it isn't relevant (I, knowing the end of the story) but I like to keep the element of surprise in there so, even though it has no meaning whatsoever, besides being a pretty nifty concept, I'll put down how Dumbledore explained inter-dimensional travel.

'Our lives all start out the same way,' he told me. 'We all start out with a straight path. Then, some time early on, we make a decision that causes a fork in the road. It could be something simple, and usually is. We could, decide to eat the pretty thing off the floor, which turns out to be poisonous, which sends us to the hospital, which renders us paralyzed. Or, it could be, we decide to throw a fit in a store, causing our parents to leave early and not purchase the gift they were intending on getting you.

'Therein lies the "what if" scenario. All or lives, we wonder, "what if we'd done this" or "what if this had happened".

'You make a decision and a part of the course of your life branches off, making your path, two. You don't come to a fork in the road, as they say, but rather, you _create_ the fork in the road. See, Hermione, there could be two choices ahead of you, But you might choose C: Neither and find a choice you didn't know you had, creating that branch!

'No matter how insignificant a decision, it still creates a break. Let's say you decide to take a different course home. If you'd gone your usual way, there could have been someone there that you were supposed to meet, who would change your life.

'Let's look at something real in your life. Let's say you'd decided to brush off your Hogwarts Acceptance Letter as rubbish. You'd never gone here, never met Harry or Ron. You never would have fought Voldemort as you had. Harry might not be alive since you've had much involvement in saving his life. _YOU_, Hermione, might not be alive either. We both know you probably wouldn't be here, at least. Unless, you are a firm believer of fate and whatnot, of course. Every decision you make, no matter how small, has a butterfly effect that forever changes your life, or keeps it from changing, as the case may be.

'How did you get here? I don't know. All I have to go by is theories.' He flipped the book around so that I could see it. He couldn't have possibly intended on my reading it because the writing was so small and flowery, it could honestly have just been scribbles made to look like writing.

'This,' he explained. 'Is a journal from one Leonardo da Vinci, the papers copied into here by magic. Leonardo, a muggle, was all too wise for his own good. He was the one Muggle who began figuring out about us, using facts and coincidences. He was good. Too good. Even back then, we had a ministry of sorts and they kept a close eye on him.

'Anyway, I'm running away with myself. As I was saying, he wrote this and he was one of the few who had theories about traveling through time and space. Here—' He jabbed a middle section of the right page with his long finger.

Pause.

Ok, I KNOW ghosts aren't supposed to be able to have matter. I mean, the only reason Peeves does is because he's a poltergeist, and was never alive. No one can figure out why Dumbledore has matter and I've actually been working on it in secret. He knew of course, and that's what spawned the whole, 'Students Who Want to Further Their Education' club.

Resume.

'Here—it says that to travel to other dimensions, alternate realities as he puts it, you do something that causes a hiccup. You do something at just the right time, when the universe is weak, and you are expelled to the other area. He has actual methods of getting back.'

Dumbledore began reading upside-down.

'Inter-reality travel, in my theories, is accidental. There is no way, I can ascertain, that one might do so by choice. However, when one lands themselves in another era or place, the only way they can get back is to figure out what is different in that world, which they will when they realise they aren't in their own time, then figure out what they did differently than in their time, and then somehow, go back in time to that moment, and choose the correct path.'

Dumbledore closed the book not-too-carefully. 'So, Hermione, the only thing you can do is find out what you did differently, since, from what you've told me, you aren't dating Severus back in your time. What decision did you make that you chose B instead of A? You'll have to figure this out and then, come find me and I'll get you a time-turner so that you can go back to that moment. I trust your recall how to use one?

'However.' He leaned forward again, arms crossed and eyes stern. 'I must warn you of the dangers. Theories speculate that if you change anything within _this time_—' he jabbed his finger into the leather with each of the last two words, to accent their importance. '—if you change the course that this path is going, you will not be able to return to your dimension.'

I had to ask here. 'Why?'

He didn't have an answer. That's fine. I figured out why later on.

So there you have it: the very confusing reason for Snape snogging my face. Yeah, even though it confused you, did you really think that was the reason? Oh you did, did you?

Liar.

So, I walked out of that office still not believing it completely. I mean, dimensional travel? How unrealistic can you get?

Ohh . . . say, about as unrealistic as time-travel, wizards, flying brooms, and werewolves?

Yeah, now you see why I could semi-easily believe it.

I suppose, you are probably thinking, 'she should get right on that figuring-out-what-she-did-differently thing!' I know, I suppose that would have been smart, had the situation (remember, I know the end of this story) been differently.

I know that doing so would only do NOTHING in the long run. However, you are sitting there confused as hell so I guess I could try to explain my procrastination.

And that being: I still had to let it sink in.

I mean, take a step back and look at the painting in its entirety.

I was plopped into another reality

Where I was dating my former professor

Who hated me

Or was at least annoyed by me

But in this reality, he was kind

From what I could tell at least

And the only way to go back is to figure out what I did differently.

Now, I realised that

It could have been something ages ago that I did differently

Or a bunch of different decisions, which'll force me to go digging really deeply.

So, with all this, imagine yourself (as I will ask you do to do repeatedly during the course of my telling my story) in my place. What would you do?

Go right back to bed.

* * *

A/N: Well! That was a doozy! Ok, you are all confused and I know you are probably more so now. I know you are wondering such things as, 'why was Snape at Hogwarts' and 'Why was he confused' etc. And plus thinking about inter-dimensional travel will confuse you in general. All will be explained!

Oh, that reminds me. I don't know if da Vinci ever said that thing about inter-dimensional travel, of if he even had any theories. That theory was all mine. I just chose some random guy.

Tadaaaah!

Oh, I used a bunch of odd words. I got a new thesaurus-like thingy.

Unbosoming: revealing something. (Say, your bosom?) But here it means like, to tell something about yourself.

Wonted: Normal

Jugulate: Strangle

Oh and the phrase 'elderly mad' was borrowed (stolen) from the _Confessions of Georgia Nicholson_ series. You know, _Angus, Thongs, and Full-frontal Snogging_.

Well. I look forward to feedback and I will try to update soon. I'm working on my next chappie for Confessions of an Agony Aunt.

**OH! And let's all thank Melissa AKA Severus-fan. Because if it weren't for her giving me the idea to write out an outline (I would just write what my mind came up with, as it came up with it), this story would never have been completed, same with the others. SHE SAVED MY STORIES! WWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRDDLE!!!!!!!!!!!!**

Next Chappie: This is going to be a long one so might take me a week to get done. But in this one, Hermione will deal with the beginning of dating Snape. Remember, this won't be like those other fics where she finds herself married/dating Snape. Think of this as my LATE entry for the Marriage Law Challenge. Except I don't abide by the rules. And they're not married. And there's no law.


	4. This Chapter is Called Hating

_Disclaimer: Ok, so here's the deal. J.K. Rowling drank some coffee and BOOM this boy walked out of her head and she wrote on napkins for eight years and then the boy had a book and then another book and another and a movie deal and my undying devotion and I'm not JKR._

* * *

**C H A P T E R / T H R E E **

Have you ever had something rip you out of sleep? Not a sudden noise or fire but just a thought that jerks you awake. However, that thought dis-a-fucking-pears as soon as you awake?

Annoys the bloody hell out of me. And it is what woke me up the next day.

Or, I should say, that night.

I literally slept from the time I went back to bed, at about ten, until half-eleven at night. Then, something stuck a stick in the spokes of the wheel that is my dream and said 'WAKE UP!!!!' which is a MUCH more effective waking-up strategy than an alarm clock.

So, I stared into the darkness for a bit, with a slight bit of panicking, since, I'm not used to waking up at night. Then, I slid out of bed and . . .

Why am I telling you this? It isn't relevant.

I went to the _loo_ ok? It doesn't matter. In fact, that night doesn't matter. Because like the sleep-whore I've randomly become, I went back to bed.

8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8

_**Next Day**_

This time, I KNEW what woke me up.

I realised I didn't know if I still taught the same class! What if I taught Flying or something? What if _that_ was the decision I made.

Dear me . . . there were so many different possibilities of what could have been different . . . it sent my mind spinning.

I knew I had to do that first. I had to discover who I was. I mean, like Dumbledore said, if I changed the course of anything, I could completely mess up my chances of returning. I didn't know why . . . but if I was going to doubt anything, I would still play it safe.

Wait. Where was I?

Ok, so I had to find who I was. But also, I realised, I couldn't tell anyone else that I was from another dimension.

One, I would sound like a total loon. And I was beginning to wonder if I really _had_ gone insane.

Two, it would change the course of this Hermione's life, definitely. I mean, people would act differently if they knew I wasn't who they were used to. Or not used to since, from what Dumbledore said, this really didn't have any matter without me in it. So all these people are conjured on my arriving?

Oooh . . . I need to go back to bed.

Stop.

I'm going to warn you: I sleep a lot during this story. Now you see why.

Go.

And three . . . wait! Did I have a three? I could have sworn I did.

Anyway, so I couldn't really tell anyone about my predicament. So how would I find out what I did differently? I'd have to scour old journals, ask Dumbledore. And the rest? Find out from my friends . . . and Snape I guess, using cunning and cleverness.

Not even bothering to eat, I flew about my flat, searching for any sign of my occupation. I found it, thankfully. My notes, off which I instruct. And they were all Arthrimacy notes.

Good.

However, me. What am I like? I dug into my box of books.

I found this box at a garage sale in Ron's neighbourhood. It's larger on the inside, about three and a half square metres. I put a few shelves in there and I can stand in there. (it is about a metre and a half deep) and get the books. It helps a lot. Without the 2 galleon box, I'd have stacks of book lying about.

Anyway, I went into there and got out a few old notebooks that I used as journals throughout my educational career.

I spent _hours_ looking through those things. I mean, I would basically glance over it but I'd stop here and there to reminisce.

Yeah, I did this until noon. Did it help? Well, I realised that none of them were different. So anything I did differently in this dimension, was more recent, as in the past four years. Unfortunately, I hadn't been keeping a journal. So after Uni, I had nothing. It was all grey. But so far, I had enough to get by pretty much unsuspecting.

I'm getting around to how good this is. See, about one thirty, Minerva flooed me wanting to go to Hogsmeade and have lunch together. Since I hadn't eaten, the creature in my stomach growled hopefully and my answer given non-verbally.

I'm not going to bore you with details of this lunch. Why? Because I didn't find anything out. Every now and then, I'd swing the conversation around to my recent past.

For example:

'Hermione, you need to slow down! The food isn't alive anymore and thus, isn't going anywhere.'

I stop scooping potatoes unto my mouth.

'Sorry. I love potatoes. I've been craving them.'

Her eyebrows went up. 'Oh?' Then she leant forward. 'Are you . . .'

I stared blankly at her like the prude I am. 'Am I _what?' _

Whispering, she elaborated (I wish she hadn't), 'Are you pregnant?'

I've accused Ron of this and it's horribly impolite, not to mention embarrassing but I went through

**Cliché #5: spitting out the contents of one's mouth**

But! I mean, come _on_! Look what she accused me of! Ok, admittedly, it's not the most horrible thing that could happen. But it was _Snape_!

'No!'

Then something hit me that made me nearly spit up the contents of my _stomach_.

Ok, pause here. A bit of a lesson. How would one get pregnant?

If you don't know the answer, go ask mummy and daddy where babies come from.

I DO know the answer but I want you to see it the same way I did.

How would one get pregnant? By a sperm permeating an egg. How might a sperm get to an egg? Well, by sex, of course. This would mean, I would have to have had sex to get pregnant.

With me so far?

Ok, now who would I most likely have sex with? Snape.

Unless I was cheating on him, I thought hopefully.

No, no I wasn't.

Which meant that there's a chance, every possibility, that

A, I COULD be pregnant and

B, Even if I wasn't, there was still the fact that I could very well be sexually active with Snape.

C, And thus, might have to shag him.

Naturally, this sent me into a frenzy as I panicked. I HAD to find out what I did differently and get back as soon as _now_!

So, back to the conversation, I added to my previous outburst of 'no!' that I hadn't eaten that day yet, which was why I was eating so fast..

Then I asked, just to be sure, 'what made you think I was pregnant?'

Pause again.

I know what you are thinking. 'Duh, it was because you said you were craving food and pregnant women crave food.'

True. Very true. But every time your friend craves something. Every time a mate of yours says something like, 'I could _kill_ for some fish and chips' do you suspect a pregnancy?

No.

So, most people don't naturally jump to that conclusion right away. Unless . . . they had other evidence that could all add up.

See what I'm getting at?

For the slower of you out there, let me say it straight. I was making sure there weren't any other things I've been doing, which might point to a baby, such as morning sickness. Or maybe I had gone and gotten a pregnancy test and was supposed to reveal the results today.

Hm . . . if that was the case, then I'd probably confused her by going 'No!' as though shocked at the mere thought . . .which I was, but I wasn't supposed to be.

See? THAT'S why I've been sleeping a lot. It's thoughts like _that_ which give you a migraine. I _told_ you that this would fuck you up.

If you've noticed that I've been cussing more than is customary for me, it's because Severus cusses and you'll see along the line, that I tend to adapt to my surrounding. I spent a lot of time with him so . . . I'm getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, Minerva replied, 'oh, it's just that I haven't seen you eat this much lately and you and Severus seem to be very much in love.' She smiled.

I shrank in my seat and didn't bother to hide my disappointment. 'Oh gods, we do?'

Chuckling, she placed a hand on mine. 'Don't look so glum! You are a very adorable couple. And you can't help it, that you are so plainly in love. I mean, even when it was all a secret, I suspected it.'

Perfect! This put me in the perfect position to go back into my past a bit.

'When did you start suspecting?' Casual as loungewear, I inquired the aforementioned question over my cup of now half-empty tea.

You might be unawares as to the reason I asked this. Ok, see. If I got a time-frame of when we started dating, it would narrow down my search as to what happened differently. So when I tried to dig into my past, I wouldn't have to sort through four years of history.

At least, this was how simple it all seemed until I got home and actually thought on it.

But you'll see that later on in this chapter. This will be quite long. But as you can tell, dimensional physics is a complicated thing.

Back on subject.

Minerva answered, 'Oh, about six months ago.'

Good. Later, when I got home, I wrote

_Facts_

_-Severus and I started dating six months ago_

_-We kept our relationship a secret until we revealed it (a month prior to my inquiry, I later learnt. Not that it matters but I figured you'd ask)_

_-We are very much in love._

_-Ugh._

But from the rest of the conversation, there were very few windows for which I could change the course of the conversation without seeming odd.

But there you go. That lasted an hour. I came back to my flat, not talking to anyone, and decided to sit and really think.

That's when I realised something sickening.

No, _not_ that I was pregnant. Honestly, one track mind, have you?

I realised that there's a chance that whatever it was I did differently, it could have been a result of numerous decisions. A twisted, winding road. I know, I realised this earlier. But I also realised that I had _no_ idea how long this could take. Yeah, I had a time-frame but honestly? We could have started dating before then and Minerva just hadn't noticed.

Also, what if me dating Snape wasn't the _only_ difference? What if what I was in was a massive winding of a plethora of 'branches'?

Yeah, that's worrisome.

Not to mention, that there was the chance that I would be stuck there. Again, NOW this is all irrelevant, but you don't know that.

Anyway, I was sitting there in a depression thinking about this when I heard my name.

I looked around from my position on my sitting-room floor, notebooks splayed about, but saw no one.

_Oh gods,_ I groaned. _I_ am _going crazy_.

'Hermione, behind you.'

Oh. I turned . . .

And screamed.

There, in my fireplace, was Snape's head.

_NO_ not like, his head was cut off and there it lay, bodiless. It was floating in green flames.

Yeah, yeah, I should be used to flooing right now, I know. But I wasn't expecting his head there. Or anywhere in my flat.

I digress.

Snape smirked. 'You are a bit jumpy today, I see. Tell me . . . Hermione, you _are_ a witch, are you not?'

Clearly, Snape wasn't as different as I thought.

Years of dealing with the Snape-as-not-my-boyfriend caused me to snap, 'I wasn't expecting you!' as a knee-jerk reaction.

He chuckled.

'How is your first day of vacation going?' he asked, tilting his flaming head to one side.

I shrugged. 'It's all right for some, I suppose. Nothing really interesting has happened.'

Ha!

He nodded.

And I realised I should not be rude and ask him how _his_ vacation was going.

'It's not,' he answered dryly. 'I don't get a holiday like you. _I_ have a store to run, remember, Hermione?'

He could still make me feel like an idiot, even while dating me. Ugh, he was probably one of those emotionally abusive boyfriends. Fantastic. I wondered why I'd even started dating him.

Snape interrupted my epiphany. 'Are you even listening to me?'

'Nope,' I answered with a cheeky grin, still a bit peeved at his last comment. And his tone.

With a slightly annoyed glare, he repeated (I'm assuming this is what I'd missed), 'All this fucking Christmas cheer is bothering me. I mean, this holiday has no purpose! We are supposed to be celebrating the birth of a man who could very well have not existed, and if he had, he was born in the summer! We are only celebrating Christmas at the time we are because when Christianity surfaced, it had to take out its rival religion, paganism. To do that, it put its OWN holiday right smack dab in the winter solstice! And then proceeded to use the methods of celebration. The fir tree, the lights and exchanging of gifts, all pagan.'

I had to add something and I knew a bit of what he was speaking. 'Not to mention Pan.'

'Yes!' he exclaimed. 'Christians then used Pagan things and made them the 'evil'. Like modeling their devil after Pan, a god. And making Pagans seem like goat fuckers who had constant orgies. The last bit, I wouldn't mind.' He smirked.

Ok, I'm not so prudish to think that Snape wouldn't be one to have sex. But this did bring me back to wondering if we were having sex.

Ohh no.

'As I was saying,' he continued. 'They changed stories too! Beowulf? You've read it, I assume? Of course you've read it. All you do is read.' Oddly, he didn't say this as though it were a lowly thing. More like, a simple statement. 'Originally, Beowulf was a pagan story but Christians took it and tagged on their own religion and changed the ending.

'Don't get me wrong. I'm not pagan or anything. I'm agnostic, as you know. But honestly, that religion's been royally fucked by Christianity. And _that_ religion pisses me off. It's all about hypocrisy and bias. Look at the bible! It says 'don't do this' and 'don't do that.' It teaches that basically, sex is for procreating and nothing else. I mean, you're supposed to just lie back and think of England!

'And women! You should be pissed because in the bible, women are either evil seductresses or baby machines. If they want anyone to enjoy sex, it'd be the 'stronger smarter male'. Women aren't supposed to. And as I've told you, I practically have a fetish where I get off on a woman orgasming. If she's not enjoying it, I can't. But fuck! Sex is supposed to be fun! Not an obligation like taxes! If it wasn't, why do we orgasm?'

This was making me a bit uncomfortable. I know, I'm no prude, (though to be honest, at this time, I was a virgin) but come _on_! This was Snape! Imagine if you just sat down with someone about whom you never wanted to imagine having sex with, and they started talking about it!

Plus, if he got off when a woman came, he wouldn't be the type to just please himself and crawl off. No, he'd likely keep going until I orgasmed. Fan-fucking-tastic. And since he was really good at telling whether or not I was lying, and since I was a virgin and thus, not schooled in this area, it'd be unlikely I'd be able to fake it believably.

Why couldn't I have gotten the normal boyfriend every other girl has to deal with? Couldn't he have had just a lingerie fetish like most blokes?

Thankfully, he got off that topic. 'And did you know that women's intelligence quotients generally tend to be higher than men's? So that part is rubbish. But those people—those bible-thumpers. You should hear them. "Christianity's been around forever . . . it's the only right way." "Oh? What about evolution? How'd that happen if Adam and Eve were supposed to be the first things on earth. Or, Adam at least. Did they walk around with the dinosaurs?" "No, of course not." "Then how do you explain those big dinosaur-like things they found under the earth dating back before humans?" "They have only dated those using science and science is made of best guesses." "Well, at least there's more evidence supporting science than evidence supporting religion." "The evidence is all around you."'

I don't know why I'm telling you this.

Ok, I _won't_ stop.

I agreed with him. 'Oh, I know how that is.' Lame but what else could I say?

'It fucking bothers me when people try to tell you that what you believe is wrong and try to shove their beliefs at you, saying _theirs_ are right! It's not even just religious people who do this. Even agnostics and atheists! Anyone who does this is a fucking wanker. I mean, what's right for one may not be right for another! And I—' His head disappeared for a second. 'Oh, dammit. Sorry but someone's banging on my door. Fuck me if I know it isn't Albus. I'll talk to you later. Bye.'

And then he was gone.

Let me just interrupt again to say that even at this point, I really didn't think this was all the hugest deal. I mean, so I'd have to pretend to be someone's boyfriend for a while, so what? I _know_ I'd freaked a bit at the prospect of sleeping with Snape and yeah, he's annoying to me. But I _was _a virgin at the time so, naturally, I didn't want to sleep with anyone until I was ready.

But as I was telling you, I still figured I'd live through it all and come out pretty unscathed.

This is the part where I stop writing to throw my head back and laugh sarcastically.

Excuse me a minute, won't you?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ok, back.

So, Snape was gone and I sat there practically giving myself a pat on the back. Like, 'hey, I didn't do too badly! I fooled him! Good show!'

Let me pause again. See, now I'm the type of girl who can play along as well as the next person. However, if something angers me, I'll let that show.

Snape and I talked a few more times. He mostly talked. Yeah, I never figured he'd be the talkative sort but that was fine with me. I mean, sure he said some things that I didn't agree with, or knew was wrong, but I didn't want to start any thing because even if I knew something that he didn't, he knew ten things _I_ didn't.

What I am saying is, I did feel a bit less intelligent around him. And it was barely anything he did. Mostly just the fact that I _knew_ he knew things. And I really was hesitant about saying something on the chance I'd be wrong.

Yeah, I don't know where this passive Hermione came from either. I guess I was just still in shock at my position, and possible _other_ positions (if you get my meaning). Also, I wanted to make this all as painless as possible.

That didn't stop me from flaring up at Snape two conversations later, however.

'I had an old crone come in today who was dreadfully dull,' He was telling me. 'This dim-witted bitch stood there for about twenty minutes, asking me over and over again, the attributes of sage. She would ask, "What is sage used for?" and I'd answer and then she'd go, "so, would it be useful to me?" and I answered that yes, since it's good for so many things, it probably would. She then asked, "Like what?"' he sighed in that I-hate-thick-people way he had.

'Meaning like, for what things would it be useful?' I asked for clarification.

'Well, fuck. There's the world's most idiotic question for you! Of _course_ that's what she meant!' He snapped annoyed, then sighed. 'You do that all the time, you know. Ask questions. That's all you do.'

Ok. This hacked me off. I mean, snap at me for no reason? All I did was ask a simple question. And now he was looking angry himself because I hadn't answered. So I did. And honestly. And with bite. 'Asking questions is how you find answers, S-Severus! I ask because I want clarity. I don't just go about assuming as you do!'

'I have no need to assume!' he countered. 'Because I know I'm right!'

Ugh! 'You are so arrogant! You always go around thinking you know everything!'

'Oh, and you don't?' he glowered.

'No. I _don't_.'

'Oh, that's a laugh. You are an insufferable know-it-all, born and bred!'

'Takes one to know one!'

'Tell me, Hermione, do you just spout off things you've read or do you have any original thoughts in that mind of yours?'

I couldn't believe he'd said that! I don't know _why_ I couldn't believe it either! 'You're such an arse!'

'Flattery will get you nowhere, Hermione.'

'Merlin, that was lame.'

He shrugged.

Ooh we'd gotten off topic. I wasn't going to let him get away with saying what he had. Not an original thought, indeed! 'I'll have you know, Severus, that my asking questions is how I am. You'll just have to deal with it because I won't fuck change for you, you understand?'

He sighed. 'I don't _want_ you to change. That's not what I meant.'

'Oh. I see. Then, what pray tell _did_ you mean?'

He let out a groan. 'Can we just drop it?'

'No!'

'Why the hell not?'

'Because,' I told him, while simultaneously searching for the answer. 'Because I won't take to you blowing up at me over my characteristics.'

'Fine. I won't.'

'Fine?' I repeated. 'Fine? That's it?'

'What else do you want me to say?'

'Anything but _fine_! Fine just means you are trying to avoid more confrontation.'

'What the _fuck_!? Is this how you are? You have this compulsive need to win arguments? You Gryffindors are too fucking competitive, honestly.'

'Oh, no you _don't_. I won't have you judging me based on my house. You want to take a stab at characteristics? How about your judging people constantly. "Oh, that girl has red hair so naturally, she's a whore."'

Shrugging, he simply said, 'Case in point: Mrs. Potter.'

'Oh, don't you _dare_ insult my friends!'

'It's not an insult; it's the truth. The former Miss Weasely has six children. That constitutes a whore. Besides, this isn't even what we're arguing about.'

'We'll argue about it because I'm sick and tired of you thinking you're better than everyone else!'

'Oh?' Sardonic eyebrow lift. 'Since when did you become telepathic?'

'It's how you _act_, P-Severus!' Close call. 'You have this way of claiming you know how everyone is, how they are. You sit there on your pedestal and cast your royal eye about, labeling everyone.'

Thankfully, my fudging went unnoticed by him. 'And it works. Hermione, I'm much older than you and thus, I've seen more. I've met more people and so I've grown to know how they act. People aren't as different as you'd think. Also, I'm not the only one on a pedestal.'

'First of all, people _are_ different and second of all, what do you mean, "pedestal"? I don't do what you do.'

He rolled his eyes. 'That's not what I meant—oh, never-bloody-mind. I'm not arguing with you anymore.'

'No!' Ooh, I wasn't going to let him do this! 'I want to know what you meant and you're not leaving until you tell me!'

'Really?' he hissed dangerously. 'Want to make a wager on that?'

'I—'

And then he was gone.

'Fuck you, arsehole,' I whispered to myself. Angry tears stinging my eyes. No, he didn't really hurt my feelings, just hacked me off. I mean, I didn't do those things! And there was nothing wrong with asking questions!

Sorry. I shouldn't lay all this on you.

Ok, a bit later, he got back on and asked, 'are you still mad at me?' and I said that yes, I was.

'Can't we just put this to rest?' he asked.

I shook my head furiously, my mouth still full of the pasty I was eating when he'd flooed. When I'd swallowed a pasty the size of a small cat (or so it felt), I elaborated, 'If we don't get it out now, then it'll sit there, under the surface, and broil.'

Groaning, he finally said. 'Ok, say what you want. Get it off your chest.'

'Ok.' I'd had a few hours to prepare. So I told him that

A) I had every right to ask questions and it was who I was. To which he replied, 'Yes, you do and I honestly love your curiosity' (let it be known that I wasn't expecting that) 'But to be honest, you do ask some stupid and irrelevant questions.' True, I had to admit. Even though I asked to be 'sure', I knew already. I don't know why I do this.

B) He needed to stop assuming things about people based on people he's met in the past. Not everyone is the same nor can they be put into groups. 'You do the same thing! You're always claiming to know what I'm thinking.' to which I replied, 'I most certainly do not! I actually actively try to get to know people and with that, I do acquire the ability to predict their responses.' He opened his mouth. I said, 'that is _not_ the same thing.'

C) If he wanted to remain my boyfriend, he would not insult my friends. I know that this could fall in the category of Things That Could Change This Dimension, but I didn't care. Ok, I _did_ but I still wasn't going to let him speak ill of my friends in front of me and I had no other threat. He simply replied, 'fine, I won't tell you the truth.' I realised that this was the best I was going to get, so I accepted it. And

D) There was going to be none of this 'I'm older than you' nonsense. While, I admitted, he _was_ older than me and therefore experienced things I haven't. Most definitely since he traipsed all over the flowerbed known as Deatheaters. But while he was older, it didn't necessarily mean he knew all or always knew more than me. He agreed but I sat there wondering where on earth this confidence came from, on my part. Because, to be honest, Snape WAS in MOST ways smarter than me.

Three conversations after that, and we hadn't fought. For some reason, I now realise that I _wanted_ to fight with him and might have dragged the aforementioned argument out a bit more than I should. A psychiatrist might attribute my doing this as 'pushing' Snape away. I don't know whether or not that's correct but I'm just rambling now so I'll stop.

The conversation I want to bring you to, is about a week after my arrival.

Ok, hold on. I know you might be wondering (unless you are just sitting there going 'so when are we going to get to the juicy torrid sex?' If that's the case, Shutup) if I had made any progress trying to figure out how to get back to my time. I had very little since by spending time with Ginny, Harry, and Ron, I'd only figured out that THIS Hermione's life wasn't much different than MY life. Good news as it was beginning to appear as though Snape's dating me was the only difference. But what I could have possibly done to lead to his dating me? Have no idea.

And yes, I should say, it did occur to me that the Snape in this life shouldn't be any different than the Snape in MY life. So, I wondered, what did I do that made Snape want to date me? Or did he want to date me in reality?

Oh my, here came that headache again . . .

Back to the conversation.

I don't even remember what we were talking about but I do recall having Ginny contact me via owl. She was telling me she couldn't have supper with me as Fred and George were in need of help for their shop.

I told Snape this and he said, 'well, why don't you and I have supper, then? We haven't been out in ages.'

I was trapped. I didn't want to go.

Why? I'll tell you why!

1. While our conversations were now fine, it's difficult for me to argue effectively face-to-face, especially with him.

2. It still was a bit of a bizarre thought, going on a date with a man who I'd never thought of as dating material.

3. I realised he was my boyfriend and it's customary to kiss your boyfriend. So, I'd have to kiss Snape. I don't even know if whether I wanted to or not factored into this. I do know I didn't know how well of a kisser I was and I didn't want to face up to Snape's judgment. I guess I didn't want to kiss him because I had a feeling it'd complicate things (psychic, I am).

So, I made an excuse. 'Actually, I was planning on going to visit my parents after I had supper with Ginny since they originally wanted me to eat with them. I think I'll do that instead. Go eat with my parents.' I paused, hoping he'd believe me. I was still a bit surprised when he looked a bit disappointed. 'Understandable. Have fun. Floo me when you get back?'

I nodded. 'Sure.' Then there was a pause. So I added, 'Well, I suppose I should get ready then.'

He nodded and then we were both nodding, like a couple of bobble-headed dolls, one of looking a bit like the green version of the Ghost Rider. Finally, he grimaced. 'Enough of this nonsense. Goodbye until later.'

'Bye.'

So, I'd saved myself. I knew I couldn't keep turning him down for very long, as it was expected of me to go on a date with him.

Later, I realised how much doing what's expected of you could fuck you up.

But later for that.

Finally, two invites later, I finally accepted his invitation of dinner and a play.

This chapter, is called, 'Hating'. Because that's what I did. I began hating him. Full-frontal loathing.

I decided that I wasn't going to get dressed up prettily for our date. I mean, that's cliché and if you haven't deduced so far, I don't like clichés. But I did brush my hair a bit more than usual. But for the benefit of the rest of the population, of course. And so that people seated behind me for the play could actually _see_ the play.

I'm kind-hearted like that.

The entire day, however, I was a mess. I couldn't concentrate and Ginny had to repeat everything she said about six times. My stomach felt as though I'd swallowed a vat of acid. I was restless the entire time and my mind kept straying to him. Why was I dating him in the first place? What on earth could lead me to do so? Why was _he_ dating _me_? What would he do on the date? Would he try to kiss me? I should order something with garlic. What if we started arguing? He did scare me a bit. He's rude . . . what if he was rude to the waiter or waitress? What were we supposed to talk about? I supposed I could just let him talk. But I was supposed to say something every now and then! What would I say? Without looking like a total buffoon? And so on and so forth it went. It was as though I had loads of little gnomes inside me, all clamoring about. I couldn't sit still. I felt . . . A.D.D. I hated this feeling. I tried to squash it by thinking of other things and reading. READING! Reading, you should know, could get my mind off an Avada Kedavra aimed my way. And did it work in getting my mind off my impending date? Not at all.

Which of course is

**Cliché #6: Not being able to get your mind off him**

Which of course is _annoying_.

When I heard his knock, my heart beat about fifty times within the span of what was usually _one_ heartbeat. 'Coming!' I called, my voice only dipping in and out of every octave audible to man. And some audible to dolphins.

I opened up the door to find him dressed . . . as usual.

'You going to a funeral?' I joked.

See, I am actually really good at handling myself and watching what I say in most situations. My fall-back is always to joke. Which, you should know, my jokes are lame, at best. Clearly.

He gestured to his ensemble. 'I'm very well dressed, I'll have you know.'

'Yes. For a _funeral_.'

He chuckled. 'Says the woman currently wearing Café Chic.'

Indignantly, I said, 'There's nothing wrong with what I'm wearing!' I had on a simple pair of jeans and pale t-shirt. See? I told you I wasn't dressing up. However, I did look decent.

'I know,' he said, smiling. 'You look pretty. Now, let's go.'

I did step out into the corridor but I didn't let him go with that. I said I was decent. I wasn't pretty and I wasn't going to have someone flattering me for no reason. Or even if he had a reason, for that. 'I'm not pretty.'

He turned and looked at me as though I'd gone a bit potty. 'Oh. I see. Low self-esteem. Oh, well, we'll get you over that.' He put a hand on each of my shoulders. 'You, Hermione, are pretty. You have lovely eyes and sexy legs—'

**Sexy legs?**

'—and a gorgeous body and nice hair—'

I had to laugh at that one. Nice hair. Me!! I _knew_ he was lying now!

Reading my mind (which, you will later see, he does a lot), he gently put one hand on my back and steered me along. 'Oh honestly. Your hair being frizzy is a result of humidity and genetics. Use that one serum and after a bit, it calms down. Your hair's soft though. A nice colour.'

Ok . . . I don't like complements because they make me blush, which makes me blush. And so on. I just . . .

Plus, remember how I don't like being looked at? The way he was looking at me . . . I can only describe it as sitting in a cold chair with a bright light in your face and a lie-detector attached to your fingers. Oh, AND you are naked and there are five-hundred people looking on. While they simultaneously play a movie of all your most revealing and embarrassing moments.

Yeah, that's what it felt like when he looked at me.

I changed the subject and we talked about other things (I really don't' recall what) until supper.

The restaurant he took me to was called _The Twisted Wand_. It was this modern place run by a bloke who was half Italian and half Spaniard. So he intertwined both cultures into his dishes. Thus, the name. The walls were all orange stucco with scarab tile accents and marble flooring. Splattered all over the walls were signs saying things like, 'Stop reading! Your food's getting cold!' and '101 Reasons _The Twisted Wand_ Is the Best Place on Earth: 1. You are not in any danger of being attacked by falcons. 2. Ducks eat for free. 3. You are allowed to sit. 4. Burping is allowed. You can even make a game of it. . . .' and so on. I sat in the booth gawping around the room.

'I figured you'd like it here,' Snape said, interrupting my reading '47. There is very little chance Attila the Hun will ever try to take over this place. 48. We were never owned by anyone with large ears . . .'

I looked back at him. Damn. I should probably pay attention to him, shouldn't I? He went on to talk about how he came across the place (again, don't recall what he said) and on.

I took the time to study him. I discovered a few things.

1. His nose was _huge_. It really fascinated me trying to imagine walking around with that thing sticking a metre out. Could he see his feet? How did he not trip all the time? It grew by the minute, I swear. Could you fit an olive up there? A grape? An apple? What about a melon? I bet he'd never had a stuffy nose in his life. There wasn't enough snot in the _world_ to fill up a nostril that size! And that bump in the middle of the bridge of his nose! I wondered if I rolled a marble down it, would it jump out at the bump? It was practically a ninety-degree angle! It _had_ to have been done by magic!

2. His hair was a bit too oily for my taste. No one's hair was naturally _that_ shiny! Why, his practically looked plastic! We couldn't let him go into the ocean as there was enough grease in that hair to cause the same problems as someone dumping a huge boat of oil. Watch out, dolphins! Swim for your lives, penguins! The thought of Snape swimming lead me to realise that

3. He was _so_ pale! I mean, was this what an albino looked like? Weren't they supposed to have white hair and purple eyes? He could have dyed his hair and I'd have to look closely to see if his eyes weren't just a dark purple. But, Merlin, he blended in with the white marble floors! It sickened me to imagine him without a shirt on!

4. His eyes were . . . nothing special.

5. His hands were huge! The length of his fingers, his bony, thin, fingers was enough to make me wonder if he could use them as shish kabobs!

6. And he, _he_ was dreadfully thin! Did the man eat? Was he anorexic or bulimic? He had to be so weak, how did he stand? How could his body support the weight of his nose and greasy hair? He probably didn't have muscle tone at all.

I know. I sound dreadfully shallow. But I couldn't help all these thoughts flying in, could I?

I just . . . I found myself _hating_ him. Everything he did, I loathed. And it wasn't like it was difficult to find things either. I mean, he was many things I hated already. He was old (which made me wonder at the state of his . . . gherkin. THAT of course, nearly caused me to vomit the three sips of wine I had back into my glass) and thin and unnecessarily rude and pompous and far too proud, making the clichés of my house look diluted. Ugh. I wondered what in Merlin's name made 'me' date him? I mean, what on earth could _I_ have done.

I know what you are saying. 'You hate him because of how he _looks?_ That's wrong!' I know. But I started hating other things too. I hated how rude he was to everyone, his condescending manner, his arrogance, how he could be SUCH a hypocrite, and on.

And yet, I sat there, and I was _enjoying_ myself. I don't know how or why, but I just sat there and then it hit me: I didn't want to go home. I didn't have to for a while, yes, but still. It wasn't so bad. I mean, he was _ok_ to talk to when he wasn't being pompous, etc. I held my end of the conversation. However, what I _didn't_ do was eat. My stomach was too full of acid to make room for anything else.

He got worried but I told him I had heartburn and I took the rest of my food in a bag.

We went to play next. Again, I don't know what we saw but it really isn't relevant.

It was afterward that is. Relevant, I mean.

We stayed in the theatre long after the curtain had gone down. Snape and I talked a bit until there was a lull. And then he leant closer. I went on talking as though I had NO idea what was going on. Playing stupid is the way to go, folks.

I jabbered on about who-knows-what until he finally said, 'You know the armrest between us won't let me go any further, so you're going to have to help me a bit.'

Well, folks. We all know that I cherish what intelligence I have. To be honest, it's my only aspect. So, this is a rarity. 'This' being when I play stupid.

'Huh?' I stared at his hands. Then, as though it suddenly hit me, 'Oh.' And then I proceeded to scoot a milimetre closer. Or, no, I'm exaggerating. _Half_ a milimetre.

This, unfortunately, was just the distance we needed, because I felt him tugging on my sleeve.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is where I panicked. Inwardly, of course. My mind raced and with it, my mouth. I started talking, and fast.

I don't know all of what I said but I do know the words, 'but, I'm sick' came out. To which he replied, 'I don't care. And besides, I don't get sick.'

Damn.

I'd tried everything short of telling him I didn't want to kiss him. Which I wasn't going to do because, you know, it's expected of girlfriend's to kiss their beaus. I mean, I could 'not feel like' shagging but I've never heard of someone 'not feeling like' kissing!

So, I leant in a bit but stupidly, the wrong way. Then came

**Cliché #7: bumping noses**

Of course, I told myself it was entirely his fault. With that big conk of his, it was natural for it to get in the way.

He chuckled though and tilted his head to the other side. And kissed me.

So the next day . . .

Oh? You want me to _describe_ the kiss? Whatever for?

Ok, _fine_.

So he kissed me. And suddenly, I forgot how to kiss. That's right; it just went out the window. Thankfully, I was intelligent enough to simply go along with whatever he was doing.

You know, people try as they might to describe kissing but it's really hard. I mean, your lips are pressed against his and your rhythmically puckering and un-puckering you lips and so is he. That's it, I suppose. It doesn't sound very pretty but there it is.

That's what Snape and I were doing.

And no, there were no fireworks or any such nonsense. I mean, I'd only kissed a total of two others (Viktor and Cormac. Pitiful that I hadn't kissed anyone for years) but I'd never seen Fireworks. I didn't think that could ever happen. And I didn't feel like 'our bodies were one' or something like that rubbish. I felt . . . nothing.

I mean, I was nervous and constantly aware of what I was doing, and wondering what to do with my hands, but I didn't feel anything that you're supposed to. This didn't surprise me too much, since you are supposed to feel that when you are in 'love'.

Ok pause again.

You won't be happy about this but I didn't think there's any such thing as love. I mean, there's love that you feel for your family and friends. _That_ love exists, but _love_, mushy My-heart-beats-only-for-you-and-I-want-to-be-with-you-always love? No. That is just something for us to believe in. It's rubbish.

Back to scene (since you are probably unhappy to have the kissing scene interrupted with spinsterness).

Ok, so we're kissing and then when I can go, 'enough of this,' I ended the kiss.

He grinned, clearly believing the night was a success.

Hopefully, he'd be happy with that success for now.

He went about talking as though nothing had just happened, and I marveled at his ability to do this, since _my_ mind was vibrating as though I'd just had six pots of straight espresso.

The night closes to and end and we Disapparated together back to Hogsmeade. He walked me back up to Hogwarts talking while I was just hoping he didn't try to shag me.

Thankfully, he didn't and left with another kiss.

Now, when he left, I realised that that wasn't that bad! I mean, sure I had to kiss him but I came out virtually unscathed and I didn't think it would revolt me too much to do it again. And even though he was everything I hated, I didn't have too badly of a night.

Of course, my stomach was still churning from the night and I found myself hard for breath.

I had to get the date off my mind and fortunately, books worked this time.

Dates two through four hold nothing of significant importance. I mean, on our third date, he did come into my flat and we snogged for a good hour. I don't know how he was able to weasel his way in there nor do I recall _why_ I allowed him to do it.

It just did.

And of course, before and after each date, I was a nervous wreck. I mean, I knew that kissing would be coming and regardless of my revelation after our first date, I was still nervous. And for the first time in my life, I constantly began wondering if I was crap at it.

This question led me to figure that if I was, then he must not have minded. This made me realise why he was probably dating me.

I mean, it was so obvious. He was _desperate_. I mean, he couldn't get anyone else and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I was the only one willing.

Now, this train of thought led me to an epiphany.

I mean, if I wanted to figure out what decision I did differently, wouldn't it be logical to think it might lie in how Snape and I started dating.

Think about it. My decision, whatever it was, lead to us dating. Did I suddenly ask him out? Could I, one night, decide to get pissed and end up having a one-night-stand with Snape?

_How_ we began dating _had_ to hold the secret!

Quite proud of myself, I went to ask Dumbledore.

If he had the answer, this would make for a short book, wouldn't it?

No, he didn't have the answer. Here's what he said:

'I wish I could help you. But you two kept your relationship a secret for Merlin knows how long. I mean, you two had me fooled until I saw you two walking down the halls holding hands on patrol one night. You both told me and I've known since. But before that, your relationship is an entire fog to me.'

Damn.

I went and tried to ask Ginny and Ron and Harry and Minerva. All four of them said the same thing. Before we revealed our relationship to them, they had no idea how it came about.

I asked if they didn't _wonder_, ever, how we came to 'be'.

Ginny (shrugging): I asked you and all you said was, 'I knew from the first moment that he was the one.'

Me (gagging): Ugh. I said that?

Harry: I never wondered, no.

Ron: I didn't _want_ to hear any details.

Minerva: I figured he'd just asked you on a date and you'd accepted it.

Clearly, _they_ we no help. I knew that possibly the only way I'd figure it out was to ask Snape. But how? One wrong step and I'd reveal everything, or at least cause him to be suspicious. He was very perceptive, you know.

Let me say now, that I never got around to asking him this. Ever. Why? Well, I turned down any idea I had about possible ways to ask without detection because none of them would have worked as effectively as I'd hoped.

At least . . . this was my reason in the beginning.

* * *

**A/N: WHEW! That was a loooooooooong chappie! It took me days of typing four to six hours each time to get this done and finally, _finally_ it's complete! Well, this chappie is, at least. Damn, it's like its own novel. **

**There was a small bit of SSHG action in this one but there's going to be more, MUCH more later on. SO much more, I think I might have to change the rating to 'M' for Mature Audiences. **

**And sorry the last bit is so rushed. More detail, I promise.  
**

**Any questions you have, anything not clear, please feel free to ask. **

**Oh, and thanks to those who've reviewed. They keep me going, reviews do!**

** Next Chappie: Hermione discovers something about Severus' past. While this isn't new in the fandom world, it factors into this story in a wholly original way.  
**


End file.
